


Back-Cabinet Dossiers

by nerdyydragon



Series: Kingsman Tumblr Ficlets [80]
Category: Kingsman (2014), Kingsman (2015), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Brotherly Affection, Eggsy & Roxy Friendship, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, F/M, First Kiss, Friendly kick in the pants, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Roxy Is a Good Bro, Swearing, Young Harry, general obliviousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdyydragon/pseuds/nerdyydragon
Summary: A series of unconnected oneshots that were too short for me to feel comfortable posting on their own, so here they are.1 - Midterms Are Hell (But You Aren't, Promise): University/Coffee Shop AU2 - Bors' Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day: Internal Monologue with some background Hartwin at the end3 - Bushel of Daisies: Eggsy's thoughts on the birth of his sister4 - Let Me Count the Ways: Harry's thoughts on Eggsy Unwin5 - "Best Friend of the Year" Award: Roxy Morton deserves ALL the awards for dealing with the pining6 - Like Instinct: Sometimes Harry's heart runs away with his head.7 - Harry's Favorite Things: Harry's thoughts on Eggsy's swearing habit (with a little bit of Hartwin at the end - more T than the others)8 - Steps On Canvas: More of Harry's thoughts on Eggsy wow there's a theme here9 - Blind Intelligence: This one has Merlin/Roxy for those of you who are interested (it's short though, I'm sorry, I was still in the beginning stages of my writing)





	1. Midterms Are Hell (But You Aren't, Promise)

**Author's Note:**

> I just like to play in Matthew Vaughn's sandbox.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are always best studied for when your notes are spread out as coherently as possible, all within reach (its even better when your booth-mate can give you helping hand)

The coffee shop he was in was busy, by the standards that hardly anyone knew about it but people who lived either up the block or at the university. Eggsy sat in the corner in a booth, his laptop open and notes spread out on the table before him, trying to decipher the Latin text in front of him in vain. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone come stand next to his table. It was some bloke from one of his classes, about his age even if he did dress like a grandpa in his cream cardigan and white button-down, carrying a leather messenger bag over one shoulder and holding two coffees. Under normal circumstances Eggsy might have thought it weird that he was going to drink two, but it was that time in the school year again and if he wanted that much caffeine then Eggsy wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” Eggsy looked around; it was. He nodded his head towards one of the cups.

“Depends, you gonna drink both of those?” The man chuckled and sat down across from him.

“A peace offering,” he said, passing one across the table, careful not to disturb any of the papers even as Eggsy moved some of them out of the way. The surface looked like a bomb had gone off, and now he felt rude taking up all of the space if he had to share the table. “I’m Harry, by the way. I think we have an English Literature class together.” Eggsy took a sip of his coffee and nodded.

“Gary, but everyone calls me Eggsy. I thought I recognized you. Hope you brought something to do though, since I’m gonna be a right awful booth-mate.” Harry raised an eyebrow and produced a battered copy of Caleb Williams from his bag. “Good.”

“What are you working on?” Eggsy gestured to the papers spread around him, one eyebrow raised as though the answer should have been obvious..

“Trying to get past Q division and access classified state secrets courtesy of MI-six, what the fuck do you think I’m doing?” Harry took a sip of his drink and pursed his lips, and Eggsy ran a hand through his already messy hair and sighed. “I’ve got a Latin midterm on Tuesday that I am in no way as prepared for as I should be.”

“Ah.” That was all he really had to say on that, though in his defence Eggsy hadn’t exactly left it open to much discussion. Harry turned to his book and Eggsy back to his notes for nearly a half hour before Harry took an interest in one of the notes sheets on the table.

“I love you.” Eggsy jolted in surprise. Sure, Harry was attractive, but this was literally the first conversation they’ve ever held, and furthermore, Harry was so far out of his league it wasn’t funny anymore. Hell, he was getting nervous just sitting across from him. It wasn’t that he considered himself unattractive or anything, but that wasn’t entirely the point. The point was that comments that would make someone choke on their coffee shouldn’t be said as though one was commenting politely on the weather.

“Run that by me again?” Harry pushed his glasses upwards - a motion that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was - and tapped a line on his page.

“You’ve translated this passage incorrectly. It means  _ ‘I love you,’ _ not whatever you’ve got written here.” Eggsy sighed, partly relieved and also, strangely, disappointed. Perhaps he had been spending too much time with Roxy or his mum, but it would have been a nice turn to have the whole  _ love at first sight  _ thing happen to him. It was too bad, really, but if this were a movie it wouldn’t be that sort.

“Well you coulda offered to help like, a half hour ago mate, instead of sitting here watching me struggle.” Harry smiled slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“The anxious demeanour was endearing.” Eggsy gaped. “If you’re struggling with Latin, we could meet here regularly if you’d like.” He must have slipped into a parallel universe, if a guy like Harry thought he was in any way not a complete wreck of a human being.

“Like a… a…” his brow furrowed and he waved a hand noncommittally, and he hoped to God Harry understood what he was trying to say.

“Yes, like a date, if you’d be interested.” All he could do was nod. It might not have been a dopey romantic comedy, but maybe this might be  _ some  _ type of movie. Eggsy chewed at his lip as Harry watched him with a tentative kind of hope.

“I would like that.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Eggsy nodded again, and Harry smiled and put his book away, then slid a stack of scribbled notes closer to him. “Let’s see where you’re having the most trouble, shall we?”


	2. Bors' Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Bors is just the dictionary definition of "completely done with this."

Bors was having, what could be considered in all intents, purposes, and definitions, a very bad day. He could even stretch and use the word terrible, were he so inclined.

His day had started very early when his sister phoned him at three in the morning (this could be excused, seeing that he was currently in another timezone) to tell him that their mother, a woman who had lived to see her ninety-sixth year, had begun to decline in her health and that should he be so moved, to come visit her as soon as he could. This phone call had been overheard - though much to the attempts of the man to not do so - by Excalibur, a man twenty years his junior and who had simply looked at him with sympathy that seemed too deep for someone who did not know him well. Suffice to say, the rest of their mission had been thrown slightly off kilter after that.

First, the young agent completely discarded their entrance plan into the VIP section of a club by flirting not only with the bouncer, but also their target (a man whom they had counted on as seeing Bors as a potential ally in his politically corrupt affairs, but apparently had a sweet tooth for pretty tarts who knew how to make themselves look inviting. Bors thought Excalibur’s acting far too natural for it to have been unpracticed - he didn’t really want to consider his colleague’s past that closely), leaving him to find his own way in since the blond had managed to get himself pulled inside the velvet rope, and he meant that rather literally. Though they still managed to get in and collect their information - on top of corrupt political schemes their target was also at the forefront of a smuggling operation, their contents too vast to remember without the help of a recording - he was hesitant to call that stage a success.

One of the bombs they had set on a relay timer at the man’s house (they had both been invited back to have a smoke and something more flavourful than anything their current scene could provide, and to talk business with less likelihood of being overheard) had failed to detonate on time - the trigger had to be completely rewired. While his partner was crouching behind a fallen slab of brickwork using his own knowledge and half-cussed instructions from Merlin, he provided cover. In the time it took the two men to get it back online so they stood a chance of making it out alive without having to fight through what seemed to be innumerous amounts of heavily armed guards, he had nearly been fatally shot over two dozen times.

If it wouldn’t raise extreme suspicion, he would kill his sister for throwing him off of his a-game. His distractions were, in essence, her fault.

Despite all odds, the two of them made it out alive, and had checked out of their motel and made it to the airstrip without being followed. In retrospect, he should have known that it wouldn’t have turned out that nicely. In lieu of doing a physical briefing when they returned to the manor, Arthur had video-called them while on the plane via the television that allowed the agency’s standard-issue aircraft to appear as a normal private airline charter. But he could hardly focus on said briefing, as it seemed both Arthur and Excalibur were suffering from excess idiocy (if someone had asked him, not that they did, those exact words would have been his answer). In short, neither man had recognized that the other person cared for them in a very non-platonic way, even though the pointed asking after the other’s welfare and longing glances when they other turned away (or in this instance shifted his attention to Bors) would have been obvious enough to a group of primary children, or perhaps a blind man.

If a tragic accident didn’t kill him, the secondhand embarrassment surely would. If there was one thing he hated more than awkward silence, it was polite conversation completely jarred by pining. He was sorely tempted to tell them to give their heads a shake, or privately ask Merlin if there was any way he could stick them both in a closet until they got this mess sorted out. It was slowly driving him insane, and he would bet any money that he wasn’t the only one.


	3. Bushel of Daisies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the loneliness gets the better of Eggsy, but he'll be damned before he lets the same thing happen to the tiny life he's holding.

Eggsy, in truth, had been a very lonely child. His mother had worked two jobs to support them, to keep their roof over their heads and food on the table. He had made friends at school, of course - Ryan and Jamal became lifelong brothers since they had met in year one. But they also had commitments to their families, and try as they might the three boys couldn’t spend every minute of the day together.

This loneliness went on for nearly six years; then Dean Baker entered his life, and things spiralled out of control. He saw his mother more, if you could call it that. She stopped working after she remarried, saying that Dean would provide for them, that he would make sure Eggsy had what he needed. Though he saw her, she never really seemed to see him in return. Her energies were spent either soaring out of her mind, or keeping Dean away from her son when he flew into a rage. Eggsy began to occupy his time in more… questionable ways, and he stopped being lonely for a while. Even if it always ate at the back of his mind.

He joined the marines, and revelled in the camaraderie and brotherhood that his cadet candidacy provided. It helped, for a while. The fact that he was never alone worked to stave off the gnawing loneliness that always ate at him until he couldn’t even stand to be in his own head. He was getting better, slowly but surely. Until his mother called him one day - his commanding officer collecting him from the bunker at an ungodly hour of the morning to tell him his mother was on the line, leaving him totally unprepared for the tidal wave of pain and sorrow she was about to unleash. About how he couldn’t leave her the same way his dad did. Eggsy almost managed to get a word in to rebuff her, to tell her that for once he was going to make the right choice, when she dropped the metaphorical bomb on his head.

“Eggsy, babes, I’m pregnant. I need you.” Her tone spoke more than her words. She was in so far over her head that she didn’t see another way out of the mess she was in. She didn’t want to try and do it alone again, risk putting the baby through what she had done to him.

Eggsy knew that Dean wasn’t the nurturing type. The moment he found out that Michelle was pregnant there would be hell to pay, and he couldn’t let that happen. So he packed his things and ignored the disapproving and sympathetic looks from his fellow cadets and his superior officers, and left basic for London.

He got back into the underground, found any way possible to make money to save for the younger sibling he was going to have. Any baby was going to be expensive; a baby growing in the conditions it was to would be even more so. He kept the money from Dean, didn’t let the weasel know he had it, and waited. Counted it regularly. Did the math. Waited some more.

Just seven months later he was sitting in the hospital room with his mother, waiting for the nurse to come back with his baby sister. The brunette that had taken her came back with the small pink bundle, a smile on her face but a sad glitter in her eye.

“She’s healthy, so she won’t have to stay in neonatal, but there may be mental development delay. It would be best to see your family doctor. It’s all in her file, if you’d like to read about it.” He nurse said. Although Eggsy knew it was likely, it didn’t mean he had to like it. His home life hadn’t been pretty, but he refused to accept that the tiny bundle the nurse was holding could possibly be any less than perfect. She had an assistant pass the file to his mother, who began to read with resigned interest. “Would you like to hold your sister, sir?” Eggsy nodded, and took the small bundle.

Looking down at the baby, a light dusting of blond hair on her head and brilliant blue eyes looking up at him from under dark lashes, Eggsy knew that he would do anything for her. That what he was feeling was love in its purest form. He waggled a finger towards her and she clamped it in her small fist and yawned, turning her head into the crook of his arm. The rush of possessiveness and love he felt couldn’t have been matched by anything he felt in his entire life, and he knew that he would never let anything happen to the precious life he held in his arms. He wouldn’t let her be lonely, not like he had been. It wouldn’t eat at her, wouldn’t colour her attitude towards the people around her. He would be stone cold six feet under before he let anything he had gone through touch her.

“Hello, little flowah, I’m your big brother.” He whispered, tears beginning to burn behind his eyes. “I’m going to protect you.” His little sister didn’t respond, only adjusted herself slightly in her half-sleep and nuzzled into his arm again. Eggsy pulled her in closer to his chest and placed a featherlight kiss on her forehead. “I love you.”

From the bed, Michelle looked up and met his eyes across the small room. She smiled sadly, and Eggsy smiled back. Even if it meant having to go back into the life he had tried so desperately to escape, he would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant taking care if his sister. She was his world now, and he would do  _ anything _ .


	4. Let Me Count the Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's reflection on his relationship with Eggsy

Harry knew, as he knew most things about himself (if one were to ask him he would reply politely saying that it was in the nature of any good spy to be very aware of their own self, and that extended to emotions, thank you very much), that he was in love with Gary Unwin.

He loved the way Eggsy bit his lip when he read something interesting and marked his spot so that he could discuss it later in depth; the way he took his tea far too sweet and milky but his coffee exactly the opposite, even though he had a soft spot for the holiday specials that seemed to assault you with colourful ads whenever you happened to walk down the street. Harry loved the sleepy smiles and sour kisses in the morning before either of them had brushed their teeth, and the way he stretched out like a cat trying to get comfortable before tucking himself against Harry’s back and going to sleep, safe in the knowledge that no matter what happened during the night, both of them were safe, that he was safe with Harry. That he trusted Harry to help him keep the monsters at bay, even if it was only while the sun was gone. He loved watching Eggsy with his little sister, and often entertained the notion that were their lives even slightly different than they were, perhaps it could be something of their own that they could have, something he could give to Eggsy. He loved the way Eggsy loved fiercely, with his whole being, and without expectations.

Harry loved the dark things about him too. The way his unflinching loyalty to those he loved led him to be reckless with his own safety; his lethal grace that shone through time and time again in mission footage. The absolute carnage he wreaked when a mission struck him on an emotional level (the most recent being a human trafficking ring targeting small children; he had come home after completion and had flat-out refused to go anywhere without his sister for almost a fortnight, even going so far as to take her on while he was home. If it had continued for any longer Harry would have been at the point of filling out a Special Clearance form for a five year old so that Eggsy could actually return to work). He loved his deadly accuracy with both weapons and hand to hand combat. Harry loved the parts about Eggsy that the other man hated, tried to fill the cracks with gold and show him that even broken glass can still be art.

His favourite look on the man was not, as one might expect, a well cut suit - although he did get a flutter of pride knowing that the elegance that Eggsy exuded was something he had helped to nurture. No, Harry’s favourite look had to be, by far, a much more personal image. Eggsy, still tousled and flushed from a hot shower, in low slung trackies that had been Harry’s once upon a time, draped in Harry’s overly fluffy red bathrobe, his eyes sleepy and body pliant. It never failed to send a possessive curl hot through his abdomen, seeing Eggsy stamped from head to toe in things that belonged to him.

He would never presume that  _ Eggsy _ belonged to him - the young man was free to leave him at any time, and he wouldn’t degrade either of them to think that any type of arrangement similar to that would be alright, knowing it would raise even more questions than they already got and cracked open a door for an uneasy power dynamic neither of them wanted. But knowing that he had that to look forward to every night that Eggsy was home, Harry knew that he himself was in far too deep to back out now, no matter what the other man did.

He loved his life, and he loved his boyfriend, and were he to die tomorrow, he would die happy.


	5. "Best Friend of the Year" Award

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the amount of whining Roxy puts up with, you'd think she would eat much more cheese (Eggsy has that covered too, being so stereotypical about this).

Roxy, being the brilliant friend she was, was not spending her day off relaxing and pampering herself. Nor was she out at her family’s estate riding, as she hadn’t done since before her Kingsman trials began. No, Roxy was spending her day off with Eggsy, a bottle of wine, and a massive tub of ice cream. Why? Because the idiot had gotten it into his head that he wasn’t good enough for Harry, and that the man felt nothing beyond platonic affection for him, despite the small encyclopedia of information to the contrary.

So here she was, a sunny Saturday afternoon, visiting her friend. She opened the door with a spare key hidden not-so-inconspicuously underneath the paw of a god-awful pug shaped shoe brush and let herself inside, toeing off her shoes and padding into the house where a small pug danced excitedly around her feet.

“Yes, yes, hello to you JB.” She stooped to scratch the dog behind his ear and, satisfied, he waddled off to go find a place to sleep. Continuing her trek through the house, Roxy found the source of her cancelled plans bundled up on the couch in what seemed to be sweatpants and a tee, burrowed beneath a soft blanket and staring at the blank television screen.

“How’d ya know I was in here?” He shifted to make space for her on the couch, and she flicked the remote, quickly finding some daytime soap opera and put it on low.

“I followed the sound of self pity.” Eggsy made a half-hearted attempt at swatting her leg, but he was too tangled in the blanket for it to do more than make him look like an angry toddler.

“Oi, that’s not very nice, Rox.” Roxy huffed at her friend’s dramatics. “I happened ta be goin’ through a crisis here.” Next to her, Eggsy reached for the ice cream she was holding.

“Well, it’s true, Eggsy. I keep telling you to just talk to him. I’ve overheard Merlin telling him to talk to you. Merlin and I bemoan this whole situation  _ to each other _ .” Giving in to his grabbing, Roxy handed over the tub of ice cream and moved to pour herself a glass of wine.

“That’s a lie.” Roxy quirked an eyebrow. “Yer just havin’ me on. Harry don’t think o’ me tha’ way.”

“Eggsy how many times have we had this exact same conversation in the last month alone? Don’t answer that, because the answer is  _ far too much _ .” Roxy ran a hand down her face and pinched the bridge of her nose, set her glass on the end table, and pulled her friend up from where he was huddled over his tub. “This whole debacle could just be solved if you just talked to him. Air it out. Please. If not for your sake, then for my sanity.”

“But what if yer wrong? What if he just don’t want to hurt my feelings and is too much of a gentleman to say anythin’ ‘bout how uncomfortable he is?”

“Eggsy.” This was getting ridiculous.

“What if I never get to spend time with him again, ‘cause I told ‘im, and I mucked it all up? What if he stops talking to me altogether?”

“Eggsy -”

“But what if -”

“ _ Eggsy for the love of God shut up and listen to me _ . Harry loves you too. He’s afraid of how you’re going to take the affections of someone who doesn’t deem himself an individual you should be attracted to, and who has enough trouble looking in the mirror because it’s a constant reminder of what he’s done.” Eggsy opened his mouth, blinked, once, twice. Closed his mouth. Opened it again. Closed it. Swallowed.

“I don’t care if he’s older than me. Sometimes that’s just life. And I love that stupid scar. Means he came back to me, kept his promise. Like he’s always keepin’ his promises. What happened on V-Day don’t make him a monster, any more than it makes anyone else monsters.” He said quietly, as though he was fighting himself to get the words out. Roxy put a hand on his shoulder and ducked her head to look him in the eye.

“Then tell him that. This doesn’t have to be a big declaration - not right now. That will be enough. It will give you a start.” Eggsy nodded.

“Ya think?” Roxy smiled and shook her head.

“I know.”


	6. Like Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's instincts have hardly ever steered him wrong - it was his penchant for theatrics that got him into trouble.

Harry knew - he didn’t know how he knew it, but it was like a nagging tug in his mind that slowly gravitated to his chest, increasingly insistent - he knew that something was wrong.

He knew when Eggsy didn’t report for the round table meeting, when he should have been cleared from post-mission medical by now.

He knew in the barely concealed sidelong glances passed between Merlin and Lancelot when they thought no one was looking, getting increasingly worried.

He knew it like he knew his father’s drinking problem or his late aunt’s depression, and he knew it like the tightening in his throat as he tried not to cry after overhearing his parents discuss sending him away three months before he left with Kingsman when they found out about his relationship with his roommate at Cambridge, who had happened to be a friend from Eton.

Trying in vain to keep it concealed, Harry excused himself from the mansion’s dining hall and attempted to at least act calm until he was out of sight of his fellow agents, ignoring Merlin’s transmission through his glasses feed that “you have to wait, please, Agent Galahad,” sprinting the rest of the way.

He mourned the lost opportunity for a grand entrance via throwing the medical doors open when it slid into the wall in front of him, and the nurse on duty looked at him in shock.

_ ‘I must look like such a mess,’ _ Harry thought, noting his wild eyes and heavy breathing, and his hair disheveled from running his hands through it in worry.

“Agent Galahad,” the nurse said. “What can I help you with?”

“Agent Gareth, probably in your med files as Gary Unwin, is he -” she smiled sadly at him for a moment, saying nothing, and he assumed the worst, choking back a sob. Eggsy always did get a chuckle out of his dramatics, and that almost made it worse. “No. No. He can’t.” Harry sunk heavily into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands, where he remained for several minutes. The only change in the room was the sound of the door sliding open again with a soft hiss, which he pointedly ignored.

“Well s'much as I appreciate the dramatics, luv,” a male voice drawled. “You probably didn’t let her finish. She was gonna say you had just missed me. Laying on an op-table for hours is hell on the bladder.”

Harry’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, to take in the grinning form of Eggsy Unwin, one leg in a boot supported on crutches, his head bandaged and gauze wrapping his left bicep. He crossed the room shakily as though he couldn’t really believe what was in front of him, and slowly skimmed a hand from collarbone to stomach and back to rest over Eggsy’s heart on his arrival. Eggsy took it, using the time to study the man in front of him, who was a cross between intense relief and looking as though he’d seen a ghost. One would think that men such as themselves would be accustomed to death, even as young as they were, but it was always more of a far-flung whim than actual fact until faced with it.

“I’m not going to ask you to be more cautionary.” Harry whispered, his eyes darting to the other man’s face.

“Didn’t know you cared.”

“You aggravating, insolent, idiotic, wonderful excuse of a man,” Harry said, yanking Eggsy in for a kiss that was really more of them forcefully pressing their mouths together than anything else. “Of course I care.”


	7. Harry's Favorite Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy swears. Often. (Harry enjoys it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little bit more "T" than any of the other ones, mainly for the use of curse words, and the implied sexual content at the end.

It had never been a secret that Eggsy had an absolutely filthy mouth. From the moment he was old enough to get away with saying ‘bad words’, he did. Although managing to clean up his language around adults when the situation called for it, and perfectly capable of articulating his emotions in more polite terms, nothing felt quite as good as unloading a heaping train of curse words. It was cathartic, in a way, to express all of his anger and hurt in a way that didn’t get him in legal trouble (and he was always careful to rant well away from his mother - she got enough of that from Dean).

To be honest, Eggsy’s cussing would never change. And were Harry or Merlin to compile a video montage of all the times Eggsy had been captured cursing a blue streak on his glasses feed, the term of his employment at Kingsman alone would span a solid twenty six days without stopping. At least - and the number would only get higher.

Eggsy’s mouth did, however, manage to get away from him at times. Especially when running down hallways away from people firing guns at him, when half the building was on fire, and the whole of the underground concourse rigged to explode at the push of a button. (That one was particularly impressive, and several of the agents who had been working on connected missions congratulated him on both a job well done and his ability to yell obscenities at people who already had plenty of incentive to want him dead while not  _ actually _ dying. Even Merlin had given him an appreciative comment or two through the feed when it happened.)

The soft words muttered under his breath had to be Harry’s coveted favourites. When Eggsy spilled hot tea on his pant leg because his pug went tearing under his feet. The first time he had seen Harry alive and promptly walked into an antique end table, whacking his foot and almost upending himself over the decoration. Realizing the kitchens had made his favourite pastries and was marvelling at the taste while trying not to moan.

Sparring with his ex-protege was always an experience, however. No matter how many times Eggsy would believe he had beat him, would be cocky in his self-assured success, the younger man always ended up flat on his back on the mat, and Harry could never quite figure out why. After a rather outstanding sequence that landed Eggsy, once again, on his back, with Harry on his knees over his waist pinning him down with one hand trapping his wrists, he managed to deduce the answer. It was, in short, half-lidded eyes and heavy breathing and bitten off groans and a softly whispered “ _ Harry _ , fuck.” If Harry could sum his sparring partner up in a single word, it would be debauched.

“Not now, Eggsy, there are cameras. Remember, a gentleman never boasts.” Although they would have to discuss how to proceed, the look on the blond’s face had been entirely worth it.

(Eggsy’s train of incoherent muttering interlinked with excessive use of expletives quickly became Harry’s favourite things to hear.)


	8. Steps On Canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If one were to compile a list of Harry's idea of artwork, Eggsy Unwin would be there.

Harry knows that Eggsy is beautiful - from the way he speaks to the way he smiles at his little sister to the way he pulls Roxy into crushing hugs when she gets back from deep cover three weeks late because everything got delayed and he couldn’t talk to her without putting her life or the mission in jeopardy. 

He knows Eggsy is beautiful when he fights, all lethal grace and deadly force and gymnast maneuvers.

But Harry had never seen him dance. Not once. He knew that in all probability it was likely that Eggsy  _ could _ , thanks to his gymnastics training, but Harry had never seen him in motion.

As Arthur, it was his job to review all mission footage, in order to create a comprehensive agent file so as to highlight their strengths and create a list of weaker areas that needed work. So when he comes across the most recent set of recordings of Eggsy and Roxy at a high-society function to take out the boss of a human trafficking ring and get an at least semi-orderly list of his conspirators, he is more than pleasantly surprised that Eggsy is an extremely good dancer. He never once missed a step, twirled Roxy in all the right places and dipped her at the end of the songs that called for it. And it wasn’t just his fellow agent either. Any woman he danced with was led around the floor with expert precision.

For all his deadly skills and less-than-polite abilities that came as tools of his trade, Eggsy danced like he was poetry in motion. The music seemed to curl around him and direct him without his knowing it; the notes became words and his steps became pages. It was something that came naturally to him, like breathing, and although Harry knew that it would have taken Roxy hours to teach him all the steps to the numerous dances, if he knew Eggsy at all, it was something that he wouldn’t have had to try very hard to perfect.

Harry Hart had always been an appreciator of fine things and works of beauty, but he had always assumed that a person could not be beautiful the same way a Van Gogh painting or Tchaikovsky opus was beautiful - they simply couldn’t be appreciated or measured by the same standard of excellence. People could be elegant, but humanity was still far-flung from art. Watching Eggsy dance, however, just might convince him to add another work to his long-stagnant list of masterpieces.

So he tells him, one day. He knows that it may come across as strange, to tell a man that he is beautiful (especially one of Eggsy’s background, who didn’t believe anything positive about himself could be true), but he does it anyway. They are out in the gardens, taking a much deserved break from the endless mountains of paperwork they are both continuously buried under and enjoying the fresh air. Harry doesn’t mean to make it an announcement, but it comes out as one anyway.

Eggsy smiles, blushes, but doesn’t say a word. Harry thinks that the way the pink stains Eggsy’s cheeks is beautiful too, far more than the flowers blooming around them - he doesn’t say this. Not today. (Maybe one day.)


	9. Blind Intelligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxy was smart. Really, ask anyone. So how could she have been so thick as to have missed what should have been obvious?

Roxy considered herself a rather good spy. She had keen observation and deduction skills, and as of yet a near perfect completion rate. She spoke five different languages fluently and was functional in another three, could crack a safe, and shoot more different types of guns than she could count on both hands with deadly accuracy.

So she wasn’t quite sure, really, how she could have missed it. The soft, lingering glances. The ever present mountain of her favourite pastries when she stopped by for tea (mostly to gripe about her completely oblivious best friend while he in turn griped about his own, equally oblivious, equally pining best friend). The warm hand on her shoulder after a job well done that lingered just a moment longer than might be proper. Even - and this was pointed out to her by  _ Eggsy _ , of all people - the barely hidden look of heartbreak and self-hatred whenever she came into work after going on a date the night before (even if said dates were only a result of her believing she didn’t have a shot at what she really wanted).

She supposed she couldn’t really blame Eggsy for being that oblivious. She was just as guilty.

Roxy tried not to sprint the closer she got to his office - buried deep inside the bowels of the R and D department like some sort of Lost Arc. Dark hardwood gave way to monotonous white tile and the clicking of her heels (poison bladed and functional, yet still stylish, courtesy of said department - though now she had a feeling that it had been him behind them to begin with) were the only sound as it echoed off the walls.

Turning the final corner and knocking on the door, a muffled conversation - though she could tell it had been heated - was cut off. Harry opened the door in front of her and looked like he was trying his best not to be surprised. He knew she was coming, there was no way he  _ couldn’t _ have known.

“Miss Morton.” He inclined his head by way of greeting and opened the door wider.

“Harry.” She would berate herself for the lack of niceties later as she swept past him and into the room to where Merlin was standing in the middle, gaping owlishly at her as she continued with purpose, stopping front of him only to thrown her arms round his neck and bury her head in his shoulder. “Please tell me I didn’t read this incorrectly.” She mumbled. His answer was to wrap his arms around her just as tightly.

“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’.” Harry said, chuckling as he closed the door behind him. A wayward thought crossed her mind, that Harry Hart had absolutely no right to use that phrase, since the tension between he and Eggsy was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. But for now, Roxy just let herself be held.


End file.
